


Something About The Fire

by rggellar



Series: The Puckerman Genes [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rggellar/pseuds/rggellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'The Puckerman Genes'. Jake's been kept by Noah for a while, but there's something about his brother's fire...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something About The Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magdalyna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magdalyna/gifts).



It was his sixth hour and nothing had changed. He could still feel his own breath heavy against himself, damp droplets collecting where spit gathered around the outsides of his mouth. Dehydration was setting in. His lips were cracking slightly, his throat tightening, his body begging for water to soothe itself. Jake Puckerman had never gone so long without water. He danced; he knew the value of staying hydrated. The body began to rebel after a certain amount of time, after the throat began to beg for anything to moisten the walls of itself, after what little saliva you could muster began to find its way to the tongue. Silk ran over his tongue, silk covering plastic in a simple, homemade device. An one night stand’s lost scarf and a squash ball prised open Jake’s mouth, his teeth digging too deeply into the black orb that prised his jaw open to let him shake his jaw free, the scarf binding it tightly to his neck so that any attempt to saw open the silk with his teeth would risk tightening the already heavy tension on his airway. He’d tried, slowly at first, gently, but he became desperate, and he became dehydrated, and his jaw didn’t move as smoothly as he would have liked. Instead it grated and pulled, and the silk shifted clumsily and heavily as it rolled, every movement sending uncomfortable sensations through his body as sheer fabric scraped and grated against rough incisors. He’d never liked those kinds of things. Sensations had a tendency to race through his body, prickling every last hair and raising goosebumps as he shivered. Things like knives scraping on a countertop, or the way old, thin, crushed carpet under flat-soled shoes moved underfoot. Jake couldn’t stand them. Sensations did as much to mess with his head as any torture ever could.

That wasn’t what he was thinking in hour six, though. Hour six had arrived and he had long given up pulling as his restraints. They were tight and his body was weakening. He was running out of energy almost entirely. The strangest thing about hour six was how little he knew of himself. Sightless and bound tightly so that even the smallest of movements took more willpower than he could muster, he’d become settled in the position he was in and the tight ropes around his legs and arms were beginning to numb them slightly. It was half restricted bloodflow and half cramping. The combination was killing his sense of perception. He knew where his body had started. He knew the cross shape he was spread in across the bed, he knew how his head was at the foot of the bed and his feet tied to the headboard. He knew he hadn’t moved from that position in the last six hours. As the numbing began, as time passed, as his body dehydrated and begged him for the smallest of droplets, Jake began to doubt himself. He didn’t doubt himself in the way that people talked about people having epiphanies, or losing their deeply held beliefs. Jake Puckerman had begun to doubt his body, that he knew where each limb lay, that what little he was feeling was _real._ Everything about it felt unreal, like a nightmarish story from a book. He craved freedom in the way that Rapunzel must have, trapped alone and doubting that anything exists beyond what little the captive has come to know.

Did anyone even notice he was gone? Of course not. He wasn’t missing. He was down in Los Angeles, sitting in a tiny little apartment with an old bed and paper thin walls. He could even hear people moving on the other side of wall, watching television, coming home from work, making dinner. He’d never bothered to scream. There was no point. He knew what would happen soon enough. He might have hated his captor in the moment for it, but Jake Puckerman had never known someone willing to do this. It seemed insane, but time had passed and he’d had nothing but thoughts. Maybe it was deliriousness, but Jake knew he’d never had a male figure in his life. Not a real one. Not someone who wanted him around, not someone willing to go to extremes just to keep him close, not someone whose anger and violence wasn’t out of hate, but out of love, out of protection, marking him readily so that every bruise on his body was a badge of ownership, the searing fires of fresh pain marking him as a person who was loved.

That was the strangest thing about it all. Jake had no idea why he was reacting the way he was. His body was dehydrating and he didn’t want water, he wanted to be _given_ water, to be _allowed_ to drink. He knew that the man who kept him had his reasons, and he knew not to doubt them. Time had changed his language. He’d lost sight of the name. It wasn’t a name he even knew well, just a nickname that had floated around his childhood like a tiny little insect, buzzing in to remind him how unspecial he was, how unwanted, how unloved. He wasn’t his father’s only son. There were probably dozens. For now, there was Jake Puckerman, and there was Noah Puckerman. They called him Puck. He made Jake call him Noah.

He wanted Noah to come back more than anything else in the world.

Time passed slowly as the door creaked open. It was the sound of old wood moving on old hinges that bore the stress of time and age like a badge, something to be proud of, a constant reminder that time was not on the side of the rickety old LA apartment, and that it was still standing regardless. He knew Noah had returned. There was a trademark sound of breathing in the air, a half-sigh that formed when the elder Puckerman returned from his work, every day a little more broken and defeated. It was something Jake could only read in Puck’s face, the way he spoke about his work, about what he did, about how little it did for him. He heard movement mix with the breathing as Noah moved around the bed. Having someone else in the room was helping his sense of perception dramatically. He could hear faint rustlings, telltale movements, little things that his body had been slowly adjusting to hear as the blindfold forced it to look elsewhere for signs of life. A hand came near Jake’s head, fingertips touching lightly to his skin. It sent shivers down his spine. His whole body wanted to react, to pull at his ropes, but they held tight and he shifted a mere half-inch.

“Hey there.”

Noah was _speaking_ to him. It felt heavenly, like a fire that warmed every inch of his body. There was something about the fire he couldn’t ever say no to. It was the first time in days that he had spoken to him. He had only heard words come tumbling from his mouth in small, fragmented versions, little syllables dripped during sex, exclamations he never intended at those moments where his body was least under his own control. It was the thrill of hearing his half-brother’s voice that consumed him as his bonds were untied, that kept him from resisting, from moving in any way that could be considered more than a reaction. He hung on Noah’s very existence, waiting for more words, waiting for more of his _brother,_ of his _family._ In the thinly tiled walls of the bathroom he heard more, little words echoing as Noah bent Jake’s dragged body into different shapes.

“Stay still.”

“Open.”

“Good.”

It was the _good_ that got him. Maybe it was the sheer length of time he’d spent tied up, maybe it was something about being with his family, but Jake felt himself well up as the word good travelled over his skin and down into his core. It was a bullet that made him almost oblivious to the water that began to enter him, the cleaning that Puck was doing in Jake’s chosen position, but his reverie was broken well enough as run-off began to pool by his head and, in his dehydrated state, he began to drink eagerly. It was as though he was tasting heaven, his body allowing him more control with each drink, his throat unseizing, his limbs loosening, his lips filling out as droplets of water found their way into the hard cracks and softened them. His brother had known, clearly. He must have. This was Jake’s reward for being a good boy, for waiting, and he soaked it up as though he were little more than a sponge that Puck had left in the bath.

“Up,” his brother commanded, and although he wanted to keep drinking, although he hadn’t had his fill, Jake found himself rising, obeying, wanting to please him. He hadn’t even noticed Puck undress. He stood unsteadily before his brother, both of them naked, Puck’s cock stiff and ready. The sight of it made Jake’s own cock react, thickness entering it inch by inch as Jake’s eyes travelled back to Puck’s eager lips.

“You want it, don’t you?” He asked. Jake didn’t know how to react. It was a question that he hadn’t been asked before. Puck had spent so much time taking what he wanted that Jake had never questioned how little he’d been left to choose. Puck _wanted_ him, and that was good, right? Jake was _wanted._ He was _cared for._ He had a _brother._ Phrases swam in his head. Statements of belonging. Puck wanted him so he obeyed. Being wanted was all Jake had ever hoped for. Now he had it.

He knew Noah was watching carefully as he stumbled towards the bathroom door. Jake was surprised that he wasn’t stopped. He’d been tied up for hours. Maybe his brother trusted him now? Was that it? Was this a sign that Noah knew what Jake was feeling, what had slowly bubbled to the surface with each scream that come from his lips over the past two weeks? He climbed onto the bed and pulled at the ropes, making a statement he knew his brother would understand.

“Please,” he whimpered, begging in his voice, his fingers still too stiff to loop the rope around his wrists the way Noah had. “I want to be yours.” He fumbled with the ropes as a hand laid over his own. Noah stood before him smiling, his fingers wrapping gently around the rope, pulling the half-open knots around his wrists to tighten them. It wasn’t long before his arms were once again tight against the bed, and then his legs, and his body was cross-shaped over the dirty sheets just as it had been before. It felt right to him. This was how Noah wanted him. This was how Noah showed his love. He wanted nothing more than Noah’s affection, and he knew it came with pleasing him. He was happy to please him.

“If you want to be mine...” A half-sentence fell from Noah’s mouth and Jake’s eyes darted to him, his head reaching back to see Puck’s hard cock sticking out over his face, shadowing him. Jake had a monster between his legs, he knew that, but Puck had nothing to scoff at. It wasn’t as big, but it was substantial, and every swollen inch of it seemed tailor made for the shape of Jake’s throat. Noah’s hands found their way to his face, and fingers slipped in between his lips. He opened his jaw completely, his head back against the edge of the bed, as Noah thrust himself inside, finally finishing his sentence.

“F-fuck... I want nothing but... fuck... but you.” The words were all Jake wanted to hear. Noah wanted him and only him. That was enough. He could hear the fire in his voice, the sheer _want_ of it all. It was enough for him as his only recently-slick throat began to take the length of Noah, the head pushing its way down with thrusting motions, his body becoming his brother’s willing fuck-toy. He began to moan around it, urging him onwards, garbled sounds from deep inside him trying to tell Noah to thrust _harder,_ and _faster,_ and to _use him._ Jake had only ever wanted to belong, and to belong meant being of use. This was something he could do. This was possibly all he could do. He felt the head break past his tonsils and deep inside, his gag reflex suppressed only by sheer force of will. Puck’s entire cock was in his throat now, his balls resting gently over Jake’s nose. They sat comfortably as Jake began to swallow, to move his throat muscles, trying desperately to gain any missing pieces of his brother he’d been denied. All he could feel was the sheer girth of his brother filling his throat, and hands slowly clamping down around his neck. He began to understand, and the thrusts came fast and heavy as Noah’s grip tightened, Jake’s throat pressing tighter and tighter around his brother’s cock. He couldn’t think. He found himself struggling for the first time in hours, trying not to be in _that_ position, hoping his brother would realise just how much it hurt, how little air it left him with as Jake desperately tried to breathe through his nose, but the burning gave way to something deeper, and Noah’s hands kept a stable grip, and before long his body was moaning and urging him on again, painful swallows gripping the powerfully thrusting flesh. This was his use, to ride out the pain and please his brother. It worked. He was surviving, and Noah’s own grunts seemed to suggest he was taking more than a little pleasure from his tight muscles.

His body had become a separate entity, something that he simply knew was there, something that reacted to Noah’s persistence as Jake’s mind continued to hope and pray that he was good enough, that this was truly what his brother needed from him, that this was love he couldn’t find anywhere else. His body sucked in air as his mind panicked. His neck throbbed as he worried that it wasn’t enough. He was so certain that Noah pulling out of his mouth was a sign of failure, that he’d not made the right swallowing motions, that his throat wasn’t slick enough, that Noah’s hands gripping him was a sign that he wasn’t tight enough. Fear ran through him like a river, consuming his thoughts entirely, panic and fear masking almost completely his brother’s fastening of ropes to his legs, pulling them backwards so he spread, presenting his ass to the wall, his toes dipping lightly against his forearms as the ropes pulled tight against the old metal rails of Noah’s ancient bed. Jake sucked in air as fingers slick with spit entered him, pulled him apart, checked that the work his brother had done previously hadn’t been for nothing.

Two fingers entered his ass easily, a dull pain the only resistance, and Noah’s other hand inspected Jake’s brown flesh appreciatively, fingers running over the edges of the bruises that were showing, every light push against a dark mark sending pain through Jake and more blood to his already stiff cock. Puck adjusted himself, resting on his knees as he lined himself up with the marked flesh that Jake presented to him. The younger Puckerman raised his head, watching as his brother reached forward for his dark, swollen penis, fingers wrapping around it as best they could, thumb sitting against the length of it. Jake wondered what he was doing, why he was holding it like _that,_ trying to understand his brother’s movements, but a sharp pain shot through him as he tried to decide whether it was a good sign that he held him that way, and a cry leapt from Jake’s lips as Noah’s cock prised him open with only the lubrication that his aching throat had provided. His entire body rocked against the bed as Noah began to thrust. He was using Jake’s cock as an anchor, something to hold on to, the movement of his thumb running over the head with each powerful thrust that stung less and less as time went by.

Jake’s thoughts unbroken, he lifted his head again, watching Noah thrust into him, his eyes pleading for more, pleading for him to be harder, faster, for his ass to earn more and more bruises. They were badges that he’d won, medals that stated he had _pleased_ his brother, that he had satiated all his darkest appetites, and that in the dingy room that Noah Puckerman rented for far too much per week, Jake had found a _home._ It was somewhere he was wanted, somewhere he had a purpose, a place where his body could act without his mind, and his lips could cry for more before he could even think that he wanted it, that four letter cries of pleasure could fly into the air with each thrust of Noah’s cock into the swollen, bumpy flesh of his beaten ass, the ridges of his hole engorged with blood and bruising, his insides warm and full with the feeling of thick, thrusting Puckerman so deep that Jake wanted to cum, to shoot a load all over his brother’s hand as he leaned back, riding him as though it was no effort at all. Noah Puckerman made fucking look cool. Jake had to wonder how his brother could seem so perfect at what he does. He was flawed, certainly, just as any person was, but Noah’s hard, fast and firm thrusts dug deeper and deeper with every second and the man himself wasn’t showing signs of exhaustion, just a smirk that he knew meant that Noah was enjoying himself, that his brother was making good use of his ass, and that all his worries and fears that he wasn’t able to please him were wrong. Noah Puckerman loved his ass, and Jake loved him for it.

“Please,” he said, words finally leaving his mouth out of more than a cock-struck reflex, “Use me.” The words sounded almost pathetic but Noah understood, Jake knew it, he knew his brother heard the meaning in his voice, and the older boy’s frame loomed large over him as the thrusting escalated further. Puck’s arms pressed against the ropes as he leaned in, pulling on the ropes, stretching out the dark boy’s legs ever more, cries of pain coming from his mouth, the flesh of his asshole as exposed to the pounding cock as it would ever be. Jake felt lips on his neck, sucking on his skin, kissing the spot where his sweat dripped down, where the vein in his neck throbbed with each painful thrust of his brother’s hips. More and more of Jake Puckerman seemed to open up with each passing second, as though he was being prised open, as though every last inch of him would belong to Noah, no more secrets, nothing more to hide, nothing but the two of them. Noah’s cool exterior broke as he cried out, and Jake heard the room echo with his brother’s moaning as his body bore down heavier on his limbs, the ropes pulling tight, the ancient posts creaking and groaning, begging for the stress to stop. Fire enveloped him, filled him, moved into every inch of his ass as his brother came, and Jake found himself moaning too, not out of orgasm but a different sort of pleasure, the kind that came with knowing he was useful, that he’d done good, and that his brother had made the most of him that he possibly could.

It was a short while before Noah stood, pulling a few items of clothing back before letting himself fall onto the beat-up old easychair that sat in front of his TV. He sat and watched some show about teen moms, and Jake watched him, his legs aching, cramping in their tied-back position, his arms desperate for relief, and smiled.

There was something about the fire that he couldn’t help but want.


End file.
